


Not for long

by Atanih88



Series: Superbat Week 2019 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Batman - Freeform, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PWP, SuperBat, Superbat Week 2019, Superman - Freeform, Top Clark Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-22 19:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19976233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: Written forsuperbatweekDay 1’s prompt ‘secret relationship’.





	Not for long

**Author's Note:**

> Written quickly and entirely on google docs but hopefully there aren’t any formatting issues - I checked and they look alright, so. Un-beta’d. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The hand covering Bruce’s mouth is slick with sweat and Bruce’s saliva. His chest heaves with the breaths he drags in through his nose and he squeezes his eyes shut, groan muffled against the palm of Clark’s hand as Bruce feels it, feels the roll of Clark’s hips against him, the way it stretches Bruce out as Clark pushes forward, not slowing, not stopping, just one long slide forward that opens Bruce up on his cock.

‘Bruce,’ Clark gasps it against Bruce’s nape.

They haven’t turned the lights on in the training room and they’re tucked into the corner furthest away from the doors. The elastic of Bruce’s sweats cut into the meat of his thighs where its stretches tight. Clark’s gripping Bruce’s hip with his other hand, fingers biting and just this side of too much, keeping Bruce off balance, ass out and taking it.

Bruce shuts down the sounds building in his throat, pushes them down and presses his forehead harder against the wall, his breathing loud in the otherwise empty room because this isn’t meant to happen. He doesn’t even know how it has, can still hear Clark’s frustrated shouting echoing in his head from the argument that had started on the field and dragged out all the way to the Watchtower.

‘Jesus, Bruce.’ Clark sounds like he’s dying even as he presses himself as deep as he can go—so deep—and tucks his face into the curve of Bruce’s neck, teeth raking over tendons that make Bruce grit his teeth as he tightens involuntarily around Clark. Clark grunts, lets go of Bruce’s hip and palms Bruce’s ass cheek, squeezing and spreading and tucking his hips up higher, sinking that extra inch deeper. 

It wrings a yelp from Bruce and Clark’s hand over his mouth presses harder, thumb digging into Bruce’s cheekbone. 

‘Shhh,’ Clark pants against Bruce’s throat, starts rolling his hips, ‘I think—’ he groans, ‘God—Bruce—Arthur—Arthur’s close by—’

Jesus. 

Bruce yanks Clark’s hand away from his mouth. He turns enough to hiss. ‘Then stop messing around and _finish_ it.’

That’s how Bruce ends up pinned bodily to the wall, toes the only thing brushing the floor, wrists pinned high up on the wall, entire body stretched out for Clark. His thighs and calves burn from the position, the bones of his wrists grinding from the pressure of Clark’s grip as he holds Bruce there and fucks him how he wants.

Bruce bites his lower lip to keep the noises in, grunting every time Clark’s hips slap against his ass. Bruce’s face is on fire, he can feel the flush covering him from head to toe, the groans and gasps and the wet sound of Clark shoving in and out of his ass turning the training room into a different space entirely. 

It’s not the first time they’ve done this. But it’s still new enough that the way Clark fucks remains a shock to his system. Relentless, pushy, unapologetic. 

And then there’s—

Clark yanks Bruce’s head back.

‘Let me see, Bruce.’ Clark’s mouth is hot on Bruce’s ear. Bruce’s hole burns—spit for lube—and Clark is just grinding into him, over and over again, not fully pulling out but just stuffing him as much as possible, like he’s trying to force Bruce as wide as he can. He fucks Bruce with his whole body.

The hand in Bruce’s hair pulls his head back further, baring Bruce’s throat until Bruce’s eyes are wide and locked on the dark ceiling, his cock trapped between his stomach and the wall and that’s not comfortable at all, makes him wince but he doesn’t inch away from it, just focuses on keeping what little balance he has left, refusing to let his knees give way.

Clark’s gasping against Bruce’s throat in between bites and sucks and kisses so soft they almost feel like they don’t belong in this moment. ‘Tighter, Bruce, please.’

Bruce grits his teeth and he does it, squeezes his hole tighter.

‘Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—'

And then Bruce is on his knees, ass on Clark’s lap, Clark’s arms wrapped around his waist. Both of them are hunched over, Bruce’s hands fisted on the mat and his head almost touching it as Clark hitches his hips up into him over and over again. And because it’s Clark, of course, of course, he’s nailing Bruce’s prostate with every thrust inside him. Between that and the way Clark’s dick drags at Bruce’s abused rim, Bruce feels like his skin can barely contain him.

Bruce’s breath shudders out of him, his body tight and trembling with the need to come. It’s so acute, so pain edged, Bruce almost doesn’t want to. His dick is dripping precome between his spread thighs and he’s clawing at the mat now, biting his mouth bloody to keep the noises in.

Because someone could walk in at any time and--

‘ _Bruce_ ,’ Clark drags him back all the way, seats Bruce on his cock to the hilt and holds him there as he comes.

The second he feels it, Bruce’s eyes pop open because—this, this he hasn’t felt before. Can feel the slickness of Clark’s come pumping into him and shit. They didn’t-—fuck. They didn’t use a condom.

But then Clark’s hands are rubbing over Bruce’s upper thighs, dragging back to Bruce’s ass and prying his cheeks apart. Bruce feels Clark’s head resting against the top of Bruce’s spine. Clark thrusts again, almost lazily.

‘You haven’t come yet,’ Clark says, voice hushed, ‘have you?’

‘No,’ Bruce bites out. ‘And we forgot the god damned condom.’

‘Okay,’ Clark brushes a kiss against the back of Bruce’s neck, ‘okay, shh. Sorry. We don’t need it. I’ll take care of it. Like this, okay?’ And he keeps thrusting, gentle push-pulls that allow Bruce to feel the come inside him, that lets him hear the obscenity of it. ‘Can you come like this? Just like this?’ Clark reaches for Bruce’s wrists and drags them back so they’re pinned at the base of Bruce’s spine.

Bruce is going to kill him. He really is. But he doesn’t fight it. Spreads his legs as far apart as the sweats will let him and rocks back into Clark’s soft thrusts, shivering every time Clark reaches deep before pulling out again. 

‘Harder,’ Bruce bites out, dick humping nothing but air and ass on fire. He needs more.

Clark shakes his head, hair brushing under Bruce’s jaw. ‘You’re too sore now.’

‘Clark,’ Bruce snaps, ‘stop fucking around.’ And he’s fuming, wants to rip into Clark over the good boy act when Bruce is so close to the edge he thinks he might break apart if he doesn’t come now.

‘I’ll help, here,’ and still keeping Bruce’s wrists trapped, Clark reaches around and curls his hand loosely around Bruce’s dick.

Bruce gasps, hips jerking up, driving up into that too-loose grip.

‘Better?’ Clark nuzzles Bruce’s ear and rocks into him, same set pace—he’s softer inside Bruce but hard enough to keep going. If anything the softness almost makes Bruce feel like he’s stuffed fuller because Clark has to force the softness of his girth past Bruce’s hole. ‘I’ll stay right here. Take what you want, Bruce.’

But Bruce is spent. All he can do is hump Clark’s maddeningly gentle clasp and squeeze around Clark’s cock, abdomen aching from the effort of it all, knees aching and breath hurting his throat. When he comes, it feels like it’s wrenched out of him. The idle thumb Clark rubs over Bruce’s tip as come rushes out, drives a loud moan from him that splits the dark silence of the room and echoes.

‘Bruce,’ Clark sounds pained and his hold on Bruce’s wrists are too tight and Bruce is lucky they’re not both broken by now. There’ll be a rainbow of bruises the width of Clark’s hand on them tomorrow. ‘You’re beautiful, you’re so beautiful.’

Bruce shudders as his cock spurts feebly one more time and then his entire body betrays him and slumps.

Fuck.

Clark gently tugs his cock out and Bruce makes a noise like a wounded animal but doesn’t have the energy to do much else. Not even when Clark sits back and gathers Bruce close, pulling him into his lap and cradling Bruce’s face to his chest, fingers combing through Bruce’s sweat soaked hair.

Clark sighs, tightens his arms around him.

‘Do I win this one?’

‘Shut up, Clark.’ Bruce keeps his eyes closed and tries not to think about how he’s just sitting there with his ass hanging out of his sweats and come on his thighs. 

‘Okay,’ Clark says, and Bruce hates that he can hear the smile in his voice, hates that he feels affection he’s tried to squeeze out of existence, spread warm in his chest. ‘I can wait. Everyone’s tired anyway. We can tell them at the next meeting.’

‘Jesus.’ Bruce is too old for this.

‘No, Jesus couldn’t fly.’

‘Clark.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Fine.’

And when Clark tilts Bruce’s face up and presses his still smiling mouth to Bruce’s, Bruce just sighs into it and lets him.

It’s too late anyway.

It was too late from the moment he kissed Clark back that first time.

But Clark doesn’t need to know that.

Not yet.


End file.
